


Friend or Foe

by Notadate (sixbeforelunch)



Category: Stargate SG-1, Veronica Mars - Fandom
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-16
Updated: 2008-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixbeforelunch/pseuds/Notadate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This isn't going to turn into a whole Spy-vs-Spy thing, is it?" Logan asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friend or Foe

What do you do when you think the cheery co-ed who's working part time in the office at your school might be a CIA agent? You tell your smart ass boyfriend so he can mock you, that's what.

"Mars, you are about two more conspiracy theories away from my picking up that phone and calling the men in white coats, you know that right?"

It's standard Logan, sarcastic with a side order of ironic smile that you either want to kiss or hit with your fist, but there's genuine concern there too. Logan's usually pretty supportive of my theories. He's good to bounce ideas off of; he's not the sort to dismiss most things out of hand. But the idea that Ms. Frasier is a spy? Yeah, okay, stranger things have happened at Neptune high, but it sounds pretty crazy to me too.

"Did I mock you when you suggested that the meatloaf in the school cafeteria was made with dog meat? No, I did not," I reply, tossing a pillow at him for good measure.

Logan catches the pillow and tucks it behind his head. He's sitting on the floor of my bedroom, with his legs stretched out in front of him and his back against the wall. "That's because you've eaten the meatloaf and you know I'm right."

I flop backward onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It is pretty crazy. Ms. Frasier has been working in the main office as an office assistant two days a week for the last six months. She handles paperwork for transfer students mostly. Wallace likes her. Most people like her. _I_ like her, and that's saying a lot.

There's nothing that stands up and screams government spook. It's not like they wear name tags. She's a perfectly nice normal person. A perfectly nice normal person who, when you run a background check on her, has a profile that's perfect. Perfect. All the 'i's dotted and the 't's crossed, no gaps, no strange missing years, no weirdness of any kind. _No one's_ background check comes up that clean unless it was created by the government.

Do I run background checks on everyone I meet these days?

No, just the ones that make my expertly honed PI spidey-sense go ping.

I told all this to Logan. He says I'm being paranoid. But I can't get the feeling out of my head. It's like an itch under my skin every time I'm close to her. There's something off about the woman.

Logan gets up off the floor and crosses over to my bed. Dad got over Logan being in my room when he's not home, as much as he ever will get over it, a while ago, but I still shudder to think about the look he'd give me if he found us like this: Logan bent over me, his face about two inches from mine, me sprawled wantonly out on the bed. Logan kisses me softly.

"I can think of a few things that will get your mind off of alien office aids, and I know you won't go for most of them. How about we go watch TV?"

Fortunately for Dad, and probably for me too, there's a whole lot more to Logan Echolls than a hormone crazed teenaged boy. There's a sweet, sensitive boy who loves me. There's also a seriously damaged teenaged boy who is going to be dealing with what his father did to him for a long long time.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm trying to make up for my failed attempt to save Mom by saving Logan instead. It's very pop-psychology, don't you think? Daughter of alcoholic mother hooks up with son of abusive, homicidal father. It's got co-dependency written all over it.

You want to know the one major difference between Mom and Logan? Logan tries. Logan goes three twice a week to some shrink who charges five hundred dollars a session and once a week to a group anger management class that meets at five in the afternoon, prime hanging out time. He pays for it out of his own pocket and he handles school and all of the crap in his life on top of it. Mom couldn't be bothered to try when I handed her twelve weeks in a rehab on a silver platter.

It's enough to make me want to pull Logan onto the bed with me and have my way with him, but I won't do that to Dad. He's got too much faith in me, I'm not going to have sex with my boyfriend under his roof.

"Sure. Let's watch TV."

We're debating between _Punk'd_ and reruns of _Full House_ (don't knock it, the mock potential is fantastic and I am sitting next to a Grade A mocker) when Backup picks his head up off the living room floor and gives the front door that classic dog 'something interesting is about to happen' face. Since he makes that face when the pizza guy comes too, it's not exactly alert the media time, but it's enough to get me off the couch and peering out between the curtains.

"Well well well. What have we here?"

"What?" Logan is still on the couch. It's his latest move. He's refusing to enable me. Hah. Like I need an enabler.

"Johnathan O'Neill is booty calling Ms. Frasier."

Now that gets Logan off the couch.

Jonathan O'Neill. The boy who went toe-to-toe with Logan in a smart ass contest _and_ won a fight with some of Weevil's muscle all on his very first day. I've been meaning to look into him too. He started last Friday. He's a senior at our school. He doesn't act like any high school student I've ever known. New kids, even the rich, attractive, popular ones, they approach school like scared rabbits. They treat high school like it's the most important thing in the whole world, even when they pretend they don't care. Johnathan O'Neill truly doesn't care.

This intrigues me.

"Wait here," I tell Logan and he gives me the same sort of look my father likes to give me. Maybe I am doomed to spend the rest of my life surrounded by men who love me and want to protect me. There are worse things that could happen to a girl.

I knock twice on Ms. Frasier's door before she opens it. A quick glance around what little of her apartment I can see reveals no trace of Johnathan.

"Ms. Frasier, hi! I'm so sorry to bother you at," I glance at my watch, "oh man, eleven thirty, but is your cable on?"

"I don't know."

I take a half step into the apartment. "Can you check?"

She gives me an odd look and turns on the TV. I drop a pen into the trash can when she's not looking.

"It's on," she says.

"Oh. Okay. Ours is out right now. I wasn't sure if it was us or everyone."

"Just you," Ms. Frasier says.

"Great." I snap my fingers. "Gee I hope Dad remembered to pay the bill."

She gives me a forced smile and I make my graceful and hasty exit. Back in our apartment, Logan is making faces at me behind my back while I pull up the bug, I can feel it. But there's just silence in Ms. Frasier's apartment so whatever they're doing, they're doing quietly and finally Logan succeeds in getting me onto the couch next to him.

A two hour _Full House_ marathon and massive mockage later, we're asleep on the couch.

Here are two things that might hint that you're dealing with a professional rather than just your average criminal element: One, your pit bull terrier has been neutralized and this happened so quietly that you didn't wake up. Two, when your sometimes overprotective boyfriend with a tendency toward violence and a decent right hook rushes the guy in your apartment, he gets his ass handed to him in the space of about three seconds.

Armed teenage boy who fights like a special ops soldier in my apartment and two in the morning? Check. Boyfriend in a choke hold? Check. The first words out of my mouth?

"What did you do to my dog?"

Johnathan gives me a steely gaze. It's unsettling. "Who are you working for?"

"No one."

"I don't believe you."

"Well it's the truth."

"You bugged Cassie's apartment."

"Look, man," Logan says, "she's just a pesky little Nancy Drew wanna be. She's not working for anyone."

"He's right," I say. "I was just curious."

Jonathan's gaze flicks quickly between the two of us, analyzing.

"Jack, let him go."

I look up and see Ms. Frasier standing at the doorway to the apartment.

"I told you to stay in the apartment," Jonathan—Jack?—says, but he does let Logan go. He immediately slumps to the floor and rubs his neck. I get up and help him back to the couch.

"You aren't my Uncle Jack anymore. You can't tell me what to do."

"Uncle Jack?" I say. "You're sleeping with a student and you call him Uncle Jack?"

"We aren't sleeping together," Ms. Frasier says. "He's a friend. A friend who likes to overreact to things. I told you about Veronica Mars. She's harmless."

Ah that good old reputation. Preceding me wherever I go.

"Mostly harmless," I say. Logan grins at me. See, now most boyfriends would be mad if I smarted off to the guy with the gun. I love my honey.

JohnathanJackWhatever sits down on the recliner, gun resting on his leg. "Why are you spying on me?"

"Actually, I was spying on Ms. Frasier, but you can bet your undies that after tonight, I'll be focusing my sights on you."

"Why me?" Ms. Frasier asks.

"It's not obvious after this?"

She and Johnathan exchange a wordless look.

"Okay, fine," I say. "You really need to talk to the people who fabricated your histories because they're much too good. Background checks that come up that clean and that coherent are kind of a red flag in my line of work. I'm a—"

"Private Investigator. You work for your father, Keith Mars. I know."

"This isn't going to turn into a whole Spy-vs-Spy thing, is it?" Logan asks. "Because I canceled my subscription to _Mad_ for a reason."

"Genius and a smart ass. And here I was feeling homesick," Johnathan says to Ms. Frasier. He stands up. "Veronica Mars. Don't spy on me. Don't spy on Cassandra."

"What do I get in return?"

"I don't shoot you?"

"He's much more valuable to you as a friend," Ms. Frasier says. "Believe me."

I do. I don't know why, but I do. "Fine."

"This didn't happen." He moves toward the door. "Dog's going to wake up with a headache. Give him a treat for me."

And then they're gone.

"It's always something with you, isn't it Mars," Logan says. He's pissed. Whether more at me or at the guy who aimed a gun at him, I'm not sure. He puts his hand on my back. "Let it go."

"I can't just—"

"Can you let it go for twelve hours. For me."

"Ten hours," I say, settling back against him. "Final offer."

He doesn't answer, just puts his arm around my waist. I should be able to let it go period for him, but I can't and he knows it. I'll leave it alone for twelve hours. I can do that much. In the mean time, there are Olsen twins to mock.

fin


End file.
